


i may have punched him

by cinderrain



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: (a.ham is drunk for all of chapter one), Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drunkenness, F/M, M/M, Minor Injuries, Multi, Polyamory, Sandwiches, Texting, everyone is angry at hamilton, for simple fluffy hamburr stop after two chapters, for some weird poly mess keep going, it's not mentioned in chapter one but washington is the cashier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-05-18 18:44:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5939224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinderrain/pseuds/cinderrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aaron Burr encounters Alexander Hamilton at one in the morning at a convenience store. There is only one jar of cranberry sauce left.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. raise a glass to impulsive decisions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by one of those AU masterposts on Tumblr - unfortunately, not sure where I put the link. If someone knows where it's from please let me know!

Aaron Burr punches a complete stranger in the face at one o’clock in the morning.  
  


Okay, back up. Wait. He can explain - or, if not that, he can at least make some excuses. Justify what happened, examine the path that led up to that moment. _Rewind_ :  
  


The setting: a convenience store, late at night. 12:36 am. Aaron walks in, thinking about how he really should drop the habit of going out in the middle of the night to get his shopping done - there is the option of fitting his errands in between work during the day, he just never takes it. At least, he tells himself, he’s getting his shopping done at all. He moves through the aisles, staggering the slightest bit, because he’s been up since five in the morning working on a particularly difficult case and he’s dead on his feet at this point. He picks up his milk, granola bars, and gum without much issue, but when he goes to reach for the last item on his list - cranberry sauce, for whatever reason, he doesn’t even remember writing that down - his hand bumps against someone else’s.  
  


His gaze trails up the arm the hand is attached to, and he finds himself looking at a man who somehow manages to give the impression that he’s had a longer day than Aaron did. He hadn’t known that was possible - five am to midnight is a very long time. On second thought, that may just be because the stranger also appears to be very, very drunk.  
  


The drunk man blinks down at his hand, and then at Aaron’s, like he’s contemplating the contrast their skin tones make. And then he extends the hand to Aaron. “Alexander Hamilton.”  
  


“Aaron Burr. Sir,” he adds, because if nothing else Aaron is at least polite.  
  


Alexander giggles. “Rhymes,” he explains when Aaron gives him a look. He is so very drunk. Aaron’s about to head to the cash register, having obtained everything on his list and introduced himself politely to a drunk stranger - because that’s one more thing than he set out to do, and he didn’t have enough energy in the first place, let alone for anything extra - but Alexander frowns and steps to stand in his way.  
  


“Wait.” It takes him a moment to continue, but Aaron has no choice but to exhibit patience and restraint. It takes five of his quiet deep breaths for Alexander to find his train of thought again. “You have my cranberry sauce.” It had been the last one on the shelf.  
  


“Okay.” It’s not anyone’s yet; it hasn’t been paid for. And then, because it’s easier to relent, “I’m afraid I do. Apologies. Now, if you would move aside so I could go and pay for it…?”  
  


“I need that more than you do.” Something happens (later, he’d learn to recognize Alexander shifting into Debate Mode), and his eyes look clearer and he sounds a little steadier. “I mean, what could you possibly use that for that’s more important than my cause? Eat it?”  
  


“Is that not what you’re supposed to -” Aaron tries to interject, but Alexander’s not done.  
  


“ _Fuck_ ‘supposed to’,” he says earnestly. “You could eat anything else, but I specifically need this item. For a dare. My honour’s on the line, _sir_ , I have something to prove and you’re getting in the way. Of science.” He pauses here, to take a breath or for dramatic effect or both, and Aaron takes his chance.  
  


“Okay, look. You can have it.” He’s not awake enough for this - whatever it is - and he doesn’t actually know what he’d needed it for in the first place. He extends the hand holding the jar, offering it, but Alexander looks doubtful. “You’re very convincing, for a drunk person,” Aaron adds. “And it was probably a bit unfair how I got to it first, because your dexterity is likely compromised.” He did not leave his house this morning with the intention to wind up trying to convince a stranger that he deserves the last jar of cranberry sauce.  
  


“M’not drunk. Just a bit tipsy.” Alexander blinks fuzzily, doesn’t take the jar that Aaron’s now actually attempting to push into his hand. “And no."  
  


“No?” Aaron starts to despair, thinking wistfully of the warm bed he’s desperate to get back to. “What do you mean, no?”  
  


“I’m not endorsing a coward’s move!” And just like that Alexander is sharp-eyed and quick-tongued again. “Now, I’ve only known you for, what, five minutes? But you can’t just let your opinion be swayed that easily! You didn’t even try to argue back, and now I’ll never know what the hell you might have needed it for, even if it was a really boring reason - which, to tell the truth, I’m betting on, because you look like a really boring person. And while I’m standing here telling you the completely obvious, I’m running late for getting back, and John is going to think I chickened out, and I’m of the opinion it’s better to return empty-handed with a story than to be late and with exactly what I set out for, no more and no less.” He pauses to take a breath, and then appears to have forgotten where he’d been going with that last sentence.  
  


What is this, debate? Is he reciting an essay? Aaron’s not sure what to say, what to feel, except a mild inkling that he should be offended. At a loss, he smiles and keeps pushing the jar at Alexander. In the process he’s gotten a few steps closer, and Alexander has stepped forward at least once during his speech to prove a point. Which leads to now, a lull in the fervor, when Aaron has room to notice that they’re practically nose to nose.  
  


Alexander Hamilton’s breath smells like cheap beer. He doesn’t seem to notice how far they’ve stepped into each other’s personal space, and Aaron, bewildered like he has been for the entire conversation, has no choice but to step back. He knows the moment he does it that it’s the wrong choice. Alexander’s eyes light up, and it looks like he very nearly steps forward but doesn’t quite have the coordination to do so, and instead he just sways a little on his feet and looks at Aaron like he’d be grinning if his eyes didn’t already convey enough by themselves. Aaron meets his gaze, making a firm mental resolution not to back up any more and then feeling kind of silly for it, and lifts Alexander’s hand by the wrist to firmly press the jar of cranberry sauce into his palm. He takes the limp fingers and curls them around it, and then he lets go.  
  


Without even glancing down, Alexander immediately sets it on the shelf beside him. In that moment Aaron realizes three things. One, this stopped being about that jar of cranberry sauce about two sentences into their conversation. Two, Alexander is clearly itching for a fight, and Aaron has no clue if he wants it verbal or physical, or why he wants one at all, much less with a complete stranger at quarter to one in the morning. Three, Aaron has decided that he is too tired for this bullshit, and he is going home right now no matter what Alexander does.  
  


“You know, you seemed like a respectable enough man when I first saw you,” Alexander starts, eyes narrowed and forehead crinkled like he’s trying to seem contemplative. He only manages to look like he has a headache, which may be true in any case. “What do I need to say to get you to get mad at me?” He’s almost talking to himself at this point, and despite himself Aaron listens, curious as to where he’s planning on going with this. He’s never seen someone, even drunk, be so transparent with their intentions. “I’ve been irrational and obnoxious and, _and et cetera_ , but all you’ve done is nod and smile.”  
  


“I just w-” Aaron starts, knowing there’s no point in trying to defend himself. Alexander’s not done.  
  


“Is this how you go through life? Just stand there and take everything that comes your way? Honestly you shouldn’t even talk if you’ve got nothing to say - what’s it going to take to get you to speak up? Who taught you to keep your mouth shut and your morals loose, your whore mother?”  
  


Aaron expects from himself stunned silence, maybe to use the opportunity to end the conversation and leave, but the only thing in his mind, like nothing else can fit, is _you want a fight I’ll give you a fucking fight_ and then his knuckles sting like hell and Alexander Hamilton is staring at him with wide eyes and a hand on his nose.  
  


“Oh my god,” he starts at the same time Alexander bursts out in laughter. Aaron watches with a kind of disconnected horror. “Shit. What did I just -”  
  


“That was great!” Alexander’s voice is a little muffled from behind his hand but the misplaced enthusiasm is clear. He’d stepped back in surprise, but now he moves right back into Aaron’s space and grabs Aaron’s wrist with his free hand. “I mean ow, fuck, but hey it’s not broken and you did something!” Is that… does Aaron seriously hear pride there? _Why_. “Here, lemme see your hand, you didn’t break anything, right? I didn’t think so, that was actually a pretty decent punch; where did you learn that? Most people who punch me don’t come close to doing it right.” He takes his hand off his nose, using it to lift Aaron’s hand up to eye level for inspection.  
  


Aaron joins Alexander in staring at his own hand, where the dark skin splits over the knuckles and red shows through. A trickle of blood runs from Alexander’s nose, which has turned a little red, and it beads just above his lip. Before it has the chance to fall, Alexander absentmindedly swipes the back of his hand under his nose, smearing red across half his face.  
  


“… most people who punch you?” Aaron’s trying to parse the sudden shift from unwarranted nastiness to hyperactive enthusiasm. He’s still not grinning, because people like Alexander Hamilton apparently don’t need to resort to usual facial expressions when ‘talking a mile a minute’ and ‘insisting on standing much too close’ are far enough indicator of his mood. “Hang on,” he continues, putting a hand up to stop Alexander from opening his mouth again (the hand not currently being held captive by this incomprehensible man, that is). “One sentence at a time, please, I am really goddamn tired. And that’s not an excuse for punching you in the face - I’m sorry about that, I am - but I’m not going to understand a word if you don’t slow down.”  
  


Alexander twists his mouth like he’s as doubtful as Aaron is that meeting that request is possible for him. He shrugs and lets go of Aaron’s hand. Aaron refuses to acknowledge the quiet voice in the back of his mind wishing Alexander had kept holding his hand, because he’s already plenty weirded out by this situation. He sticks it in his jacket pocket, trying to keep the lingering warmth.  
  


“Most people who punch me also don’t apologize immediately after.” Alexander’s mouth snaps shut, making the sentence sound stunted and unfinished, and he looks at Aaron expectantly. Aaron does a ‘go on’ nod, appreciating the other man’s choice to refrain from abusing verbal semicolons and dashes to get around the one-sentence rule. “So, I dunno, I’m impressed.” Pause, nod. It looks like it’s physically paining him to do this. “It didn’t even hurt, actually, it’s just bleeding because face wounds are stupid.”  
  


“Are you defending my impulse to punch you while you’re standing there with your nose dripping blood all over the floor?”  
  


The harried-looking cashier takes that as his cue to decide he’s finally had enough of these assholes shouting and punching each other in here and shoos them out. Aaron manages, with a sheepish grin and some pleading, to get the man to let him pay for his groceries before they get kicked out.  
  


“So what now?” Aaron lets the chill night air filter in through his mouth, trying to clear his head. The streets are empty, and the only light comes from the sparsely-distributed streetlights.  
  


“Does the one-sentence rule still apply?” Alexander doesn’t have a coat, and he’s hunched in on himself. He looks a lot smaller out here in the dark compared to his bright-eyed aggression under the fluorescent lights. The only colour on him is the dark streak of blood across his cheek, and Aaron tries not to feel too guilty.  
  


“No,” Aaron goes, taking pity on the man and feeling like he’ll instantly regret this decision. A few beats pass without an answer, and he repeats his question. “What now?”  
  


“What do you mean _what now_?” There’s a bit of cautious defensiveness in his tone, and Aaron wonders tiredly how many more of Alexander’s faces he’ll have to deal with before the night is over.  
  


“I mean,” Aaron starts carefully, patiently, “I can’t just leave you here alone. It’s dark and you’re drunk. Do you even know the way back to wherever you came from?”  
  


“M’fiiine.” He thinks Alexander might be pouting? “I’ll just call my friends, they’ll pick me up.” He fumbles a little for his jeans pocket, pulling out his phone.  
  


“But in the meantime you might get punched again.” Aaron frowns, brings up a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. He sighs, and his breath is just the slightest bit visible - that combined with how Alexander’s shivering imperceptibly makes up his mind for him. “Look, okay, just - come back with me.”  
  
Alexander turns to look at him fully, managing with his usual skill to look incredulous without even raising his eyebrow. He ruins the effect by sneezing, and, under the force of Aaron’s suppressed chuckling, huffs and nods agreement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanted to get this up in time (ish) for Burrthday, which means I don't have the remaining chapter(s?) written. No guarantee for when updates might happen.
> 
> (Disclaimer: author has never been drunk before, so portrayal may have been inaccurate.)
> 
> Also comments are given a special place in my heart and replied to (though not always in a timely manner). Thank you for reading!


	2. can we agree that that was dumb and immature?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaron gets less sleep than he'd have liked to. This is for a lot of different reasons, but most of them are Alexander's fault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Updates will be sporadic and slow. 
> 
> Prompt has been [located](http://ciraeus.tumblr.com/post/103507843665/guess-who-loves-aus). Possibly not the original source, but it's where I saw it first. Full prompt is: "Argue over the last jar of cranberry sauce at the 7/11 au."

_16 new texts from: John, Laf, Herc_

_7 missed calls_  
  


_To John_

_From Alex_

oh yeah sorry i got punched by this guy and now hes taking me to his apartment but its chill everythings fine

_Sent at 1:13 am_  
  


Item number two on Aaron’s list of Things He Did Not Plan On Doing Tonight is letting Alexander Hamilton sleep over. Well, to be fair, it’s probably something like item sixteen if he counts the little things, like: not meaning to smile at the man’s indignant frown when Aaron went to help him up after a drunken stumble tipped him over onto his backside - but. He’s not counting those. If he starts counting those he’ll get too hung up on why they’re happening, and he doesn’t need that right now.  
  


He doesn’t need anything except to go the fuck to sleep, and maybe that’s why.  
  


Alexander nearly runs into the apartment door after Aaron unlocks it. He bounces off the doorframe with his shoulder and shuffles his way into the apartment, leaving a trail of his things behind him: one shoe kicked off near the door, and the other one halfway across the room, in the middle of Aaron’s carpet; his phone abandoned on the coffee table; his jacket flung over the kitchen counter. Aaron is too tired to bother with chastising him - that is, until Alexander starts trying doorknobs.  
  


“What are you doing?” Aaron comes off sounding more amused than irritated, but he supposes it’ll do.  
  


Alexander doesn’t answer him. He rejects the bathroom and closet, but the third door he tries is Aaron’s bedroom. He disappears inside, and it takes a moment for Aaron to follow - he’d been hanging up his jacket like a reasonable, if tired, person. He makes it down the hall in time to see Alexander collapse bodily onto his bed. The man’s eyes are scrunched shut, and he’s curled up around himself, elbows folded against his ribs and knees drawn up. His hands are loose fists in front of his face, and if he’s not asleep already he’s well on his way to getting there. The smudge of blood is still on his cheek.  
  


“That’s my bed,” Aaron sighs, not expecting the complaint to do much good. He stares helplessly at the near-stranger on his bed and considers his options. What he should do is take the couch for tonight, or try and move Alexander somewhere else, or shake the man awake and ask him to move. But the promise of that bed was the only thing that kept him going through the second half of his day; he’s not sure he’s awake enough to, what, pick the other man up? And somehow he has the impression that neither hell nor high water will get Alexander Hamilton to move of his own volition right now.  
  


Item number three on his List: Aaron peels off his socks and climbs into bed beside Alexander, nudging him a little - half in hopes he’d wake up, and half just to move him off of where’s he’s pinning down the covers. He hears a very tiny snore. He sighs.  
  


_9 new texts from: John_  
  


Aaron wakes up to the sound of someone swearing. This is alarming for a variety of reasons, the first being that he lives alone. Before he can really start to panic, though, it occurs to him that the scraps of dialogue and images drifting back into focus in his mind might not be from a dream. He rolls over onto his back - slowly, cautiously - and finds that the bed is empty. He drags his hand down his face, exhaling silently, and from careful observation (without bothering to open his eyes) draws a few conclusions.  
  


One, the covers are not on the bed. Nothing is on the bed except for Aaron. Two, somewhere off in the distance, under the stream of muttered cursing, a phone is buzzing against a coffee-table-like surface. Three, there is no possible way anyone could have dreamt up someone as… someone like Alexander Hamilton.  
  


The swearing doesn’t stop, and Aaron decides that it would probably be in his best interests to get up. He sends out a silent prayer for patience when his feet swing over the side of the bed and sink into the pile of pillows and blankets that Alexander had evidently kicked onto the floor overnight and not bothered to pick up. Aaron’s just grateful he didn’t end up on the floor himself.  
  


The clock on the bedside table says six in the morning.  
  


Aaron takes a very deep breath and lets it out very slowly. He does it again for good measure before he stands up.  
  


The apartment is silent now, and Aaron can’t help but feel more concerned. He absentmindedly tugs at his rumpled shirt and steps into the hallway, foreboding settling in his gut. He takes another breath, makes his way down the hall, and almost chokes on the exhale when he sees the state of his living room.  
  


The coffee table is on its side, all its contents - including Alexander’s phone - dumped on the ground. The contents of half his cabinets and drawers (pens, scissors, rubber bands, and paper clips) are strewn across the room, over the couch and overturned table. Alexander himself stands in the middle of the mess, one sleeve rolled up; there appears to be half a sentence on his arm. His other hand grips half of a cheap pen. There is a spreading puddle of ink on his carpet.  
  


Aaron closes his eyes and buries his face in his palm, pinching the bridge of his nose, and hopes that it’ll go away if he doesn’t acknowledge it. A few seconds tick by.  
  


Alexander, unsurprisingly, is the first to break the silence. “I was looking for paper.”  
  


Aaron’s not sure whether he’s grateful for the awkwardly bitten-off sentence, apparently some attempt to stick to the one-sentence rule and make him less mad. “That’s not really sufficient explanation for all… this.”  
  


“Well it’s true!” Alexander, frustration in the tensing of his muscles, abandons the idea of one sentence at a time immediately. He starts pacing, little two-step jerks of movement, and his words all rush over each other. “I don’t know what else you want me to say - I had to write something down and then I couldn’t find paper, and I checked all the places a reasonable person keeps paper and I was getting a little desperate because there were more thoughts happening and they were going to crowd out the original thought so that’s why they’re sorta… flung all over the place, and then I started writing on my arm but I was also walking at the same time so I tripped.”  
  


“Over the shoe you left in the middle of the floor last night,” Aaron adds helpfully.  
  


“Yes!” Alexander doesn’t sound the least bit repentant, and looks even less so. He rocks forward on the balls of his feet, looking like he wants to move around more but isn’t sure if he’s allowed, or if he might knock something else over if he does. “And - well, where do you keep your paper, then?”  
  


“Reasonable people keep paper in their offices.” Aaron nods toward the hallway, keeping his expression carefully blank in the face of Alexander’s frantic gesturing. He needs something to focus on besides the man currently standing in a still-spreading ink-stain, the center of his own personal hurricane aftermath. It doesn’t work very well - he still notices the things like how Alexander seems to have washed the blood off his face, and how much sharper still his eyes look when he’s sober, and just how careful Aaron’s going to have to be to avoid getting cut on his edges.  
  


He’s still tired. He’s blaming the overblown metaphors on that, instead of acknowledging the fact that Alexander is objectively attractive  
  


“Hm.” Alexander pauses to consider this. Aaron imagines wherever he lives, stacks of paper on the floor and tables, roughly-scrawled essays sticking out from silverware drawers. Alexander continues his story with a shrug. “Well, okay. And then I broke your pen, sorry about that by the way, and then you came in, and now we’re here talking but I really should - I need to -” He breaks off, blinks rapidly. His gaze skitters all over the room before settling on Aaron again. “Lost my train of thought. Here, I’ll start cleaning up the mess.” He’s in motion again, all at once, and he hands Aaron the half-a-pen as he brushes past.  
  


There are a few paper towels on the ground, sort of making some effort to alleviate the ink problem, by the time Aaron manages to catch up. He sets the pen down on the counter, where it can leak to its heart’s content, and shuffles the rest of the mess together in a pile near the table. When Alexander whirls by again, Aaron stops him with a hand on his chest.  
  


“Sit down.” He sees Alexander’s mouth open, a protest ready on his tongue. “We need to talk.” He takes the man by the elbows and maneuvers him so that they’re both sitting on the couch.  
  


“More talking?” Alexander whines. “I already explained.” He doesn’t make any more attempts to get up, though he perches on the edge of his seat, looking like he might.  
  


“You don’t strike me as the type to complain about talking, generally,” Burr remarks dryly.  
  


“I don’t know what you want from me, though. And when I don’t know what you want I ramble and then I say too much, and... Wait. Do you want an apology? I’m sorry for destroying your living room.” He doesn’t sound very sorry.  
  


“It’s not about the living room.” Aaron breathes in, breathes out. Tries to figure out how to say this. “It’s about last night.”  
  


“What is there to talk about last night?” Alexander crinkles his forehead and tilts his head, looking to the world like he’s genuinely lost. “I was trying to get you to fight me, you sorta did and then we got kicked out of the store.”  
  


“So that’s a normal Friday evening for you,” Aaron says, pressing his lips together to keep in another sigh. “You go around insulting people and getting punched. Sounds like a great use of your time.”  
  


“Saturday morning, technically.” Alexander shrugs, looking too pleased with himself for the situation. He shifts, almost leaning his shoulder into Aaron’s. “And hey, it worked on you, didn’t it?”  
  


“Only because you called my dead mother a whore.” Aaron tries not to make it seem like he’s dropping some huge revelation, but he’s curious to see Alexander’s reaction. He doesn’t have his money on remorse.  
  


“Your mother’s dead? What about your dad?” There’s something that might be excitement in his voice, but his face is completely unreadable. That and the fact that he’s leaning even closer, shoulders twisted around to face him and hands shoved into the crack between the cushions for balance, throws Aaron off-balance. He’s been the most expressive and easy-to-read person Aaron’s ever met, thus far, and now Aaron has no clue what he’s thinking.  
  


“Also dead.” He leaves perhaps too long of a pause here. “Why?”  
  


Alexander does a little bounce, landing even further into Aaron’s personal space. “Me too! Not dead I mean, I’m an orphan too.” He looks like he’s just on the verge of saying ‘that’s so cool!’ or something of the like. Aaron hopes he doesn’t.  
  


“As much as I’d love to bond over a point of commonality,” Aaron starts, making a conscious effort not to lean away, “we still need to talk about what happened.” He pauses, and then elaborates: “I still haven’t properly apologized.” And he hasn’t been apologized to, for the mother comment.  
  


“Yes you did. And you were provoked, in any case.” Alexander shrugs, and Aaron doesn’t feel like he’s gotten closure on either of the things he was after. “It wasn’t even a particularly good insult, but, y’know, I was drunk and I just landed on the most common one, I guess.”  
  


Aaron refrains from pointing out that most people don’t actually hear that said about their mothers all that often. He doesn’t want to get into what Alexander’s childhood may or may not have been like. He does let himself quietly assume, though.  
  


“All I wanted to say was I’m sorry and I shouldn’t have done that.” Aaron keeps his sentence clipped and professional - he wants this issue done and out of the way.  
  


Alexander laughs, unreadable again, and opens his mouth -  
  


The phone buzzes from under the pile of stuff, cutting off whatever he’d been about to say. Aaron frowns as something occurs to him. “Why did you tear my apartment apart if you had your phone right there?”  
  


Alexander shoots a glare at the phone. It’s not visible under all the junk Aaron had shoved on top of it, but Alexander makes no move to retrieve it. “It keeps freezing up.”  
  


Somehow Aaron has the suspicion that that’s less on the device and more due to Alexander’s typing speed. The phone keeps buzzing.  
  


“I think that’s a call,” Aaron begins cautiously. “Maybe you should take it?”  
  


“Nah, it’s not important.” Alexander waves a hand vaguely. “You were saying?”  
  


Aaron wants to point out that he can’t know whether it’s important or not when he hasn’t seen who’s calling, but it’s hard not to waver under the full force of Alexander’s attention like this. And he _had_ been the one to start this conversation.  
  


“I was apologizing for my actions last night.” _And then you laughed, and I don’t know what it meant,_ he wants to add, but doesn’t. He catches himself feeling frustration in the curl of his fingers and forces himself to relax. He doesn’t need to blow up on Alexander (again).  
  


“I don’t understand why you’re still so hung up on this.” Unfortunately, Alexander has no interest in what Aaron doesn’t need, and seems set on making his life difficult. “I mean, as the injured party I should get some say, right? And I say I hardly expected you to apologize, and you didn’t keep punching me afterwards either, so. That was nice.”  
  


Aaron wants to say that Alexander is going about this forgiveness thing wrong. Say that he should be apologizing for the insult, but it’s all he needs to apologize for. Tell him that the undertone of “I deserved it” and “it could have been worse” in his implications is concerning.  
  


Instead, he says, “Well. I forgive you for the whore mother thing.” And it had started out as a lie but by ‘mother’ Aaron’s feeling less passive-aggressive and more willing to let it go. He has his doubts that the conversation was going to get anywhere.  
  


As expected, Alexander doesn’t take that as a cue to apologize. He shrugs, says “I’m glad,” and then Aaron hears a meaningful silence that worries him a little. He looks up at Alexander’s expression and thinks of a cat hovering a paw beside a glass of water, edge of the table precariously near and knowing it. “So.” Alexander grins into the silence, all teeth. “What now?”  
  


Aaron can’t help the startled snort, and he’s saved from Alexander’s pleased expression by a heavy thumping at the door.  
  


“Alexander Hamilton,” comes a muffled voice, clearly yelling. “I’m giving you five seconds before I kick down this door!”  
  


“Ah, yes,” Alexander says to Aaron, all pleasant civility. “That’s John.”  
  


“I’m rather fond of my door,” Aaron replies.  
  


“Well we’d better go and answer it, then.” Alexander launches himself off the couch, unbalancing Aaron in the process, and arrives at the door in a matter of moments. He takes a second with the doorknob, but the moment he has it open a man that Aaron presumes is John barrels into him.  
  


“You goddamn idiot,” John says in greeting. “Do you know how long we spent looking for you? And you don’t spare the courtesy to reply to a single one of my texts.”  
  


“Hey,” Alexander protests, the effect somewhat weakened by the fact that he has his arms wrapped around his friend’s ribcage and nose buried in the spot beneath his collarbone. “I happen to have actually answered a single one!”  
  


“We had to ask people on like seven different streets, looking for you,” he went on. “You’re an inconsiderate asshole.”  
  


“Love you too. How many doors did you demolish before you found this one?” And then, quieter, “I hope you didn’t spend all four hours looking. It’s not like this is the first time I’ve done that.”  
  


“Well, no,” John admits. “We went home in shifts to take naps. But you’re still an idiot. I’d punch you,” and here he makes eye contact with Aaron for the first time, “but it seems like someone’s already taken care of that.”  
  


Before Aaron can try to defend himself, Alexander’s stepping back from the hug and crossing his arms. “I _texted_ you back! What, did you think he was holding me here against my will?”  
  


“No, but you’ve got a reputation for making poor choices. Pardon me for not taking ‘it’s chill everything’s fine’ at face value when I know for a fact you were drunk off your ass.” John’s looking more exasperated than angry, though, so Aaron takes this chance to approach.  
  


Aaron offers a hand, and he takes it. “John Laurens.”  
  


“Aaron Burr.”  
  


“Sir!” Alexander chirps. The look on his face says that he’s mostly doing it to be obnoxious.  
  


“Rhymes,” Aaron finds himself explaining, not entirely sure why. It earns a small smile from Laurens, though, so that’s something.  
  


“I think I’ve heard of you. Some kind of prodigy?” There’s less small-talk curiosity behind the question and more of a challenge. He wants to see how Aaron will react.  
  


“Hardly.” Aaron reassesses his opinion of Alexander’s friend. “Rumours exaggerate.” He offers his best neutral smile, the kind he used to give to condescending teachers and unpleasant coworkers.  
  


Alexander, possibly sensing some conflict in the way Laurens’s smile drops in response, steps in. “John, could you go let Laf and Herc know I’m alive? Before they damage the doors of any more of the nice old ladies who I’m sure live on the next block over.”  
  


“I haven’t heard the fascinating story of how you got yourself punched and then ended up following the guy home, though.” Laurens doesn’t break eye contact with Aaron to look at Alexander, and Aaron can’t help but feel a bit threatened.  
  


“Look, I promise there’s a really good story in it for you if you do me this favour now.” A reluctant pause. “Please?”  
  


“Always, Alex, you know that.” And he lowers his voice, but not enough to pretend he doesn’t want Aaron to hear. “Remember you can never trust lawyers, though.”  
  


The door clicks shut behind him. Aaron raises an eyebrow at Alexander, at a loss.  
  


“It’s a joke - I was a lawyer at one point. For a little while.” He’s not being as reassuring as he intends. “I didn’t know you’re one yourself?”  
  


Aaron takes the subject change like he’d accept an undeserved parking ticket. “We met less than six hours ago, it’s not that much of a surprise that you don’t know what my profession is. But are you sure -”  
  


“Hey, can I borrow your phone for a second? I need to call mine, gotta find it before I go. Sorry I can’t stay to help with the mess.” Alexander drums his fingers against his thigh, glancing between the door and the couch.  
  


“Sure, okay, but.” Aaron hands over his phone without much thought, too distracted by the encounter with Laurens to remember the fact that it shouldn’t take this much effort to locate a phone under the sparse pile of rubber bands and paper clips he’d tossed over it. “Are you sure this -” he gestures to indicate ‘the truth’ - “would make a better story than whatever your friends were assuming?”  
  


Alexander slips his phone in his pocket and picks his way through the mess back to Aaron.  
  


“Not yet.”  
  


Aaron thinks about how that slip of a grin should be worrying.  
  


Alexander keeps walking, walks too close, this being at least the fourth infraction of Aaron’s personal-space-boundaries since they’ve met, and he tips his head a little to the side and slides one hand behind Aaron’s neck and sets the other on Aaron’s hip and - presses his mouth on Aaron’s.  
  


Mouth.  
  


For two endless seconds, Aaron stays where he is. And then Alexander hums, and he finds himself leaning forward and bringing his hands up to hover around Alexander’s elbows. He has no idea what’s going on.  
  


Abruptly, Alexander pulls back to breathe. He runs his tongue over his lip, and then he’s one, two steps away.  
  


He gives Aaron’s phone back, pressing it into his hand, and flashes a wild grin at him. “You’ve got my number.” The door opens, closes, and he’s gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks go out to [Claudine](cloud9is007.tumblr.com) for beta-reading/edits! Also to Holly for suggestions and the below snippets:  
> “The sight of Hamilton's exothermic waves made Burr's heart skip a beat, overwhelming the sino atrial node and causing blood to pool in his heart.”  
> “Burr looked at Hamiliton and his chordae tendineae vibrated causing his atrioventricular valves to shudder. With love.”  
> She is the Science Friend. Sometimes this is scary. 
> 
> Also, I found a note from back when I was writing chapter one: apparently I was trying to compare Alex to a dead stuffed raccoon but Google wouldn’t give me a straight answer on whether it was “taxidermied” or “taxidermized”, so I had to scrap it. So that was almost a thing, I guess.
> 
> On a more serious note: this fic's predicted length has drastically increased, and a very complex system of polyship will be introduced/hinted at next chapter. If you'd like to pretend that the fic ended with this chapter, like I'd meant for it to do, please go on ahead! Things will probably get weird as I go on.


	3. if it took punching alexander for us to meet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meeting new people is always fun. Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So when I said "sporadic and slow" I meant like this. Sorry!  
> Also the chapter where there is way more texting than originally intended.

_To Eliza  
_ _From Alex  
_ eliza betsy dear please help  
i am so screwed  
i met this guy and i think i really like him and possibly laurens hates him and i dont know what to do  
 _Sent at 8:00 am  
_ _  
_  
Well, what have you already done?  
 _Sent at 8:03 am  
_ _  
_  
i called his mom a whore and got punched and i may have also kissed him  
without explaining why  
and i might have implied that it wasnt an actual kiss like one tha[exceeded character limit]  
 _Sent at 8:03 am_  
  


t i meant and then i sort of just left  
but! i woke up to him fucking cuddling me like i know i kinda stole his bed but i didnt think hed actually get in the bed w[exceeded character limit]  
 _Sent at 8:03 am_  
  


_5 more new texts from Alex_  
_Sent at 8:03 am_   
  


so i  
yknow  
panicked and destroyed his apartment  
 _Sent at 8:04 am  
_  

Oh, sweetheart. Give me a second to read all that, ok?  
 _Sent at 8:04 am  
_  

okay  
 _Sent at 8:06 am  
_  

_Many texts later  
_  

So why do you think he might not like you back if you say he kissed you back?  
 _Sent at 8:31 am  
_  

because i dunno  
im really pushy and he says he felt bad about punching me before that so  
 _Sent at 8:31 am  
_  

also john says he has no morals so theres that too  
 _Sent at 8:32 am  
_  

Okay, well.  
Why don’t you come over and we can talk this out?  
In person, I mean.  
 _Sent at 8:33 am  
_  

all right on my way  
 _Sent at 8:33 am_

  
_  
To Aaron  
_ _From Alex  
_ hey do you wanna get lunch?  
 _Sent at 10:20 am_

   
Aaron suspects that Alexander actually exists on a separate dimension from the rest of the people who interact with him, where time flows differently than it does in Aaron’s reality.  


Because there is no way that, after being forced to spend six hours with a stranger, he’s willing to just... ask Aaron to lunch and pretend nothing happened, and Aaron is just honestly really confused at this point.  


A few possibilities spin through his mind. Taking into account the context of Alexander’s apparent capriciousness and lack of hesitancy about affection, it could be that it really was just for the sake of “a good story”. (And then he’d gone and kissed _back_ , when he was probably just supposed to be sufficiently shocked at Alexander’s antics again, what was he thinking?)  


And why lunch? He’d left his jacket behind; if he wanted to talk he could have used that excuse. But lunch makes it seem… less like something that happened only in that strange time between sleep deprivation and alcohol, and more suggestive of continued acquaintance.  


Aaron looks down at the phone in his hand. He has a lot of things he could say here:  
i’d have thought you were the kind of person who sends multiple texts in a row, i’m surprised you stopped at six words  
or  
did you get any sleep at all because i’m a little terrified thinking about how early you must have gotten up to get my living room in that state before 6 am  
or  
so are we just not talking about anything that happened at all?  


Instead, he replies:  
sure. what time?  
 _Sent at 10:30 am  
_

And they go from there.  


_To Alex  
_ _From Eliza  
_ You got this, babe.  
 _Sent at 10:40 am  
_

no i dont  
i chickened out and told him lunch is gonna be with you and angelica  
 _Sent at 10:40 am  
_

is that okay?  
 _Sent at 10:40 am  
_

Alexander had texted him the address for the little cafe, and Aaron arrives about ten minutes early - his phone screen lights up to display 11:51 am. He clicks it off and leans against a bit of wall next to the door, slipping both phone and hand back into his jacket pocket. He glances around at the couples and families entering and exiting the cafe, and wonders vaguely if the sisters that Alexander mentioned are the type to arrive early too. He’s sure Alexander isn’t, and he’s proven right when, a solid 18 minutes later, he’s wrapped in a very sudden embrace from behind. He’d turned his back away from the wall for all of two seconds, distracted by an excitable puppy, and somehow in that space of time Alexander had managed to sneak up on him and bury his nose in between Aaron’s shoulderblades.  


Either Alexander has no sense of personal boundaries and greets everyone with a surprise hug, or he’s doing it to bother Aaron. Probably both.  


“You’re late.” Aaron extracts himself from Alexander’s hug, stiffly and with much difficulty.  


“Yeah, I got sidetracked.” Alexander grins, and Aaron wonders if he’s ever been apologetic in his life. “The other two might take a little longer. You know girls, they always take forever to get ready.” His tone is light, but he watches Aaron intently like he’s expecting something.  


Aaron raises an eyebrow and makes the most noncommittal _mhm?_ possible. A beat.   


“Well that’s a boring response.” Alexander’s back to himself again - Aaron hadn’t noticed that the reason something felt off was because Alexander was making an effort at acting.  


“And why do you say that?” Unluckily for Alexander, Aaron is a practiced master at boring responses.  


“I was hoping you’d do a little feminist lecture. Or agree, so I could lecture you.” He lets out an exaggerated sigh, jamming his hands into his jeans pockets. “I lied, they’re just stuck in traffic because they live in a different part of the city.”  


“Must all your interactions be provocative?” Aaron’s never met someone this constantly eager to argue, every word out of his mouth something to brandish as a weapon.  


“Depends what kind of provocative you mean.” Alexander waggles his eyebrows. “Wink, wink.”  


“You just said the words ‘wink wink’ out loud. You didn’t even -” Aaron cuts himself off with a huff and throws one hand in the air to convey his exasperation.  


“Well technically I only said one word, twice, so your use of the word ‘words’ was incorrect.” He opens his mouth again to say something else, but trails off, staring somewhere between Aaron’s nose and neck - he can’t quite tell where exactly. Just like back in the apartment, Aaron thinks, like last night, and expects him to mumble something about his train of thought and ramble on. But he doesn’t.  


He steps closer.  


Alexander presses his lips together, still staring. Aaron doesn’t move, lets him, and realizes too late that nervously running the tip of his tongue over his lip doesn’t help the situation. Alexander lifts a hand, reaching for Aaron’s shoulder -  


“Alex!” a voice calls from just behind Aaron, and both of them jump. Aaron turns to see a young lady waving at them, presumably one of Alexander’s friends. “Sorry we’re late.” She smiles at Aaron. He definitely hasn’t seen her anywhere before, but he can’t shake the feeling that he’s supposed to know her somehow.  


As they walk together into the cafe and find a table, Alexander asks, “Where’s Angelica?”  


A few things hit Aaron at once, but he doesn’t have time to process them before he hears another voice:  


“Looking for a parking spot.” Her tone changes when she spots who Alexander’s guest is. “Oh. Mister Burr.”  


Aaron doesn’t have to turn to know who it is, but he does anyway. “Miss Schuyler.” He slides on the same smile he offered John Laurens. Alexander doesn’t add a “Sir!” this time, too busy looking intrigued and vaguely offended.  


“Hang on,” he interrupts, leaning over in between Aaron and Angelica. “Why do you know all these people? And get in passive-aggressive fights with them more than I do?”  


“It’s only two people, Alexander. And I don’t fight.” Aaron doesn’t add that Alexander doesn’t do passive-aggression any more than a bull picks out gold-trimmed china - he knows it’s not what he meant.  


“It’s two out of three people I’ve introduced to you so far, I think I’m justified in thinking there’s a pattern. Or a conspiracy.” Alexander pauses to let his point sink in. “And also my nose begs to differ on your second statement.”  


“Oh?” The other girl, who Aaron’s gathered by now is Angelica’s sister Eliza, gently pushes Alexander back down to his seat. “Alex didn’t mention anything about a nose.”  


Alexander glares at her, for some reason that’s beyond Aaron. He’s personally too busy shifting uncomfortably under Eliza’s wide-eyed curiosity to pay much attention to why Alexander’s scowling at her, because if he doesn’t handle this situation carefully - well, he knows what one sister’s like.  


Then again, this is supposed to be the nicer sister. “I… may have. That is, I mean.”  


“I see you’re just as much the orator as you were five years ago, Burr,” Angelica remarks.  


“You and I both know what you’re implying is untrue,” Aaron shoots back, distracted by how Eliza’s smiling at Alexander and laying a placating hand over his at the other side of the table.  


“Yes, right,” Angelica agrees. “It was never your ability to form words that was under question. Actually _saying_ anything, though -”  


“ _Conspiracy_ ,” Alexander complains, cutting off the budding argument. Clearly Eliza’s efforts to keep him in check had been in vain. “He punched me,” he adds offhand in Angelica’s direction.   
  


“Shush, Alex,” she says at the same time that Aaron goes, “Be quiet, Alexander.” Angelica turns to Aaron, impressed. “Did you really?” She makes a shooing motion with one hand, and, despite himself, Aaron moves to make room for her to sit down beside him.  


Aaron, at this point lost beyond words, presents her with his still-bruised knuckles.  


“I’m sure Alex is very sorry for whatever he said to you. And you seem very nice, so I’m sure you’ve apologized already.” Eliza’s hand is still over Alexander’s, but her eyes flash for a moment and Aaron gets an impression of “ _mine_ ” - but he thinks that can’t be right. This is supposed to be the sweeter sister. Are all of the Schuylers this terrifying?  


The glare melts away into her smile like ice cream in the sun, sweet and cold and leaving him thinking that he imagined things.  


“Uh.” Aaron glances at Angelica for help, but for once her face is placid and neutral. She does look a little proud. “Yes.”  


Alexander, still looking uncomfortable, jumps back into the conversation and steers it in seven different directions before anyone else can get more than two words in edgewise. Aaron sits back and allows the subjects to blend back into natural small talk.  


He still catches himself staring whenever Alexander laughs at something Eliza says. Or when Eliza leans her shoulder into Alexander’s, or the way that Alexander looks at her like she’s someone he’d pull down the stars for.  


Aaron’s trying to figure something out that’s really none of his business. At least - it shouldn’t be.  


_To Angelica  
_ _From Eliza  
_ Oh, nothing’s wrong, it’s just that Alex asked me and John to hold off on the PDA for a bit while he attempts to court this new guy.  
 _Sent at 1:01 pm  
_

He says he doesn’t want to scare him off with the whole poly thing before he even knows if Aaron’s seriously interested.  
 _Sent at 1:01 pm  
_

ha! i call bullshit on that (the not knowing i mean), the poor kid’s whipped and it’s obvious as hell  
 _Sent at 1:01 pm  
_

“not sure if he’s seriously interested” my ass  
 _Sent at 1:02 pm  
_

also i can’t imagine john being terribly pleased w that request  
 _Sent at 1:02 pm  
_

The next day brings the same “lunch?” text, and Aaron replies the exact same way. He can feel himself hovering with one foot over the step that’ll take him into Routine and all its dangerous trappings, and instead of easing off to weigh his options he settles that metaphorical foot down. Cautiously.  


Today they’re meeting all of Alexander’s friends at the convenience store, since it’s the closest thing to a midpoint between where everyone lives and this way everyone knows where it is without needing an address. Aaron arrives early, but he doesn’t really mind. Alexander has settled into the multi-part texts Aaron had expected, and a hurried “ill be late” turns into a full-fledged conversation:  


herc is a tailor sort of and johns still in school so he doesnt have a real job  
laf is just very rich  
 _Sent at 12:47 pm  
_

that’s quite the eclectic collection of friends you’ve got there. how did you all meet?  
 _Sent at 12:50 pm  
_

how do you think i usually meet people  
just take a guess based on our own first interaction  
 _Sent at 12:50 pm  
_

oh hey im here  
 _Sent at 12:50 pm  
_

He looks up and, sure enough, he spots Alexander ten paces away cramming his phone back into his pocket. Aaron waves, and as Alexander approaches he holds the door open so they both go in at the same time.  


“Why were you waiting outside if pretty much everyone’s already here, you weirdo?” Alexander goes, in greeting.  


“And how was I supposed to know? I’ve only met one of your friends, remember?” And it’s true that Laurens isn’t here yet, but to be honest Aaron had figured that the two inside were who he was supposed to be meeting up with. There aren’t many people who would hang out in a convenience store in the middle of the day for fun, and anyway they look like the kind of people who would fight and then befriend Alexander Hamilton.  


“Good to meet you. Burr, right? Laurens talked a bit about you.” Aaron’s hand is taken and shaken firmly. “Hercules Mulligan.”  


Aaron smiles, nods, and quietly suspects that ‘talked a bit’ means ‘complained’. Lafayette’s introduction and greetings are imperceptibly on the cold side.  


By the time Laurens arrives, the group has casually paired off for small talk. Mulligan appears to know the cashier - Washington, he’d mentioned his name was - and Alexander’s off in the drinks aisle antagonizing a pair who had come in a bit later. (Aaron recognizes them, vaguely; Charles Lee and Samuel Seabury. He’s seen them around, friend of a neighbour or coworker and whatnot.)  


Laurens, one foot over the threshold, takes one look at the setup and makes a beeline for Alexander.  


Aaron doesn’t blame him. So far, his own conversation with Lafayette has consisted of two-word exchanges about the weather and the impending Monday. There’s a lull in the conversation, now, and Lafayette breaks it with, “I hope our Alex isn’t trying to get himself into another fight.”  


Aaron looks over. The group of four have moved from the drinks aisle to the packages of instant noodles, but it doesn’t look like it’s coming to blows quite yet. "Does he succeed often?"  


"Often enough." Lafayette's stare is hard, and Aaron nods diplomatically. Thankfully, Mulligan and Washington wander into their conversation. They exchange introductions, greetings, pleasantries; Aaron follows Mulligan to stand by the chips and leaves the other two behind.  


“Alexander never mentioned where he works,” Aaron comments, trying to find a neutral subject.  


“He’s between jobs - that’s code for ‘he gets hired and then fired every other week’.” Mulligan chuckles, glancing over at the subject of their conversation fondly. "Potential employers can never see past the impressive resume to the personality, I think."  


"I see." Aaron quietly scrambles for a subject that isn't 'so who the hell is he dating anyway?', because. None of his business. "You all seem very close."  


Mulligan laughs easily, lays a heavy hand on Aaron's shoulder. "I guess we do. It was a little messy for a bit there, but we have it sorted out now."  


Aaron wonders if they're all scheming behind his back to be purposefully vague, just to frustrate him. He nods again, and lets the conversation trail off until they're both watching the escalating situation over by the instant noodles.  


When Laurens steps into Lee's space, their faces much too close together, Mulligan pushes off from the wall he'd been leaning against and heads over. Aaron follows, a little more slowly. He stops by the various sodas to watch the proceedings from a safe distance.  


Mulligan exudes a slightly threatening presence, which is aimed primarily at Alexander and Laurens; Lee and Seabury retreat without buying anything, anyway. The moment they leave, Mulligan shifts his demeanor and starts - Aaron can't describe it any other way than scolding. Dad Mode activated.  


This goes on for a few minutes, Washington and Lafayette watching and laughing, until Alexander points out that “since everyone's here and the assholes have left", they should probably head out to find somewhere to eat lunch. Mulligan agrees, allowing Laurens to slink away, but continues reprimanding Alexander as they walk.  


The pacing spaces them out so that Aaron and Laurens are the last ones left in the store - Washington having gone into the back to take his own lunch break. Aaron pauses in going to catch up with the others, because Laurens is looking at him expectantly.  


He seems to be weighing over his words, though, and so Aaron returns the scrutiny. This, he thinks to himself, is someone who sent Alexander out on that dare even knowing that the man gets himself into fights and trouble more often than is healthy. He thinks about himself, and about who Alexander could have run into instead. His opinion of Laurens suffers a little from this line of thought.  


Laurens finally finds what he wants to say. "He's not - you don't - You don't know what you're getting into."  


"I might if you'd be more specific about what exactly our topic of conversation is," Aaron suggests. He's resorted to sardonic remarks partly due to more confusion about the situation: is this a friend type of 'back off' or a boyfriend kind of thing? What made Laurens notice anything between him and Alexander?  


Aaron probably shouldn't have provoked Laurens, though - the man still looks tense from the encounter with Lee and Seabury, shoulders tight and eyes narrowed. He responds by stepping closer so that Aaron's backed up against a wall, and curling his fingers (strangely slow) into the fabric of Aaron's shirt collar. Aaron thinks about Alexander’s references to fighting his friends, and about the scrapes on Laurens’ fingers. Laurens presses the back of his hand harder against Aaron’s collarbone, steps even closer.  


And then he kisses him, hard.  


Aaron doesn't think he'll get used to being kissed out of the blue by near-strangers anytime soon. He doesn't have time to react embarrassingly this time; Laurens lets go in two seconds, and is outside by five.  
 __  
They catch up to the rest of the group and have a fairly normal lunch together, excepting the fact that neither of them meet the other's eyes the entire time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Claudine (@cloud9is007 on Tumblr) for beta-reading again! Next chapter is in the works but again, please lower your expectations for update speed. Yes, like that. Maybe a bit lower?


	4. they are engaged in a battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander invites Aaron to lunch again, with a different set of people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all again for all the comments and kudos! I've never hit 100+ kudos before, this is exciting.  
> Also, sorry for the delay, but I've finished writing everything now and I'll be posting them on a staggered schedule (about weekly, depending if I remember). Thank you for your patience!
> 
> Additional note: are the texting styles distinctive enough, or should I post a guide for what kind of punctuation/capitalization each character uses? I don't always follow the single-text back and forth, so it might get confusing.

_To Aaron_  
_From Alex_  
hey so lunch today is with a few ex-coworkers, you up for it?  
_Sent at 12:32 pm_  
  
yes. and that’s an odd way to describe a relationship.  
_Sent at 12:40 pm_  
   
It’s Monday, so Aaron actually has to go to work. He yawns and rubs his eyes as he puts his phone down. Last night Alexander, getting bolder by the hour, kept Aaron up until one in the morning ranting about how Lee and Seabury had wronged him that afternoon, while Aaron himself attempted to reply in as few words as possible. It didn’t discourage Alexander in the slightest. Most of his grievances appeared to be about cowardly actions, fearful beliefs, and Aaron hadn’t quieted fast enough the part of him wondering if Alexander hates Aaron for those qualities, too.  
   
Alexander messages him the time and place, again, and fails to arrive on time, again. Aaron gets there five minutes early and sees someone he both recognizes and doesn’t feel an urgent need to hide from (a rare occurrence).  
   
“Madison.” They exchange polite smiles, both with an imperceptible bit more warmth than usual.  
   
“What brings you here, Burr?” Madison’s looking healthier than he usually does. It’s been a while since they last saw each other, and Aaron is tempted to do some catching up, but he has suspicions about why he ran into him here of all places.  
   
“You don’t happen to know an Alexander Hamilton, do you?”  
   
When Alexander arrives, it’s a) twenty minutes late, b) with Thomas Jefferson (who Aaron has only heard of, and never actually met), and c) to the sight of Aaron conversing lightly with Madison about their respective argumentative loud-mouthed bothers.  
   
“- and I’m saying just because _you_ were late because you had too many outfits to choose from doesn’t mean that _I_ had a non-legitimate -” Alexander, noticing Madison and Aaron, breaks off mid-rant to whine “ _Conspiracy_!”  
   
“Mads, darling, why are you fraternizing with whoever the hell this is?” Jefferson adds. And then, quieter, “Should I be pretending to recognize him?”  
   
“Thomas, this is Aaron Burr.” After a beat of blank silence, Madison adds, “I’ve mentioned him before in passing.”  
   
Jefferson appears to breathe a sigh of relief. “Good. That means I haven’t actually met him before, and to tell the truth I don’t care much to do so now.”  
   
“All right,” Aaron replies cautiously. This seems like a man he should be cautious around.  
   
“Be warned,” Madison murmurs when Jefferson turns back to Alexander, so that only Aaron can hear, “he’s not in a great mood today. He forgot an important anniversary and he’s been beating himself up about it all week.” Hand on Aaron’s elbow, Madison quirks a small fond smile. “Can’t tell from looking at him, but if he’s more of an asshole than usual…”  
   
“Damn it, Madison!” Alexander pouts, arms crossed in exaggeration. He’s positioned himself so that he’s standing next to Aaron, creating almost two sides of the conversation even though none of them are seated at a table yet and can’t logically be “across from” each other. “I was going to introduce people to each other.”  
   
“Burr and I were already acquainted, though.”  
   
“That’s what makes it unfair!” Alexander turns to Aaron. “Am I never going to get to introduce you to anyone?”  
   
“I don’t actually know that many people,” is Aaron’s mild response. “I’m not sure why this keeps happening.”  
   
“Are we going to go eat or just stand out here watching Hamilton throw his tantrum?” Jefferson interjects. “Because honestly I’d be fine with the latter. He’s bound to embarrass himself sooner or later, and that’s always entertaining.”  
   
“Oh, I’m sure it won’t make that much difference whether we’re inside or not. Your fancy French restaurants always seem to take five hours to actually get the food on the table.” Alexander actually rolls his eyes at Jefferson - apparently transformed into a five-year-old by the other man’s presence - and mutters, “I wanted to go to a nice sandwich place, but no. Sorry about the asshole, Aaron.”  
   
Aaron makes a wordless neutral noise of agreement and herds Alexander toward the entrance, because, as he’d said, he’s boring. Unfortunately, the louder pair don’t stop trading insults just because they’re inside now and there are more sets of eyes on them. Aaron could swear Alexander and Jefferson think it’s performance art or something.  
   
“- and I’m not sure if you’re trying to make a _statement_ or something by picking the venue to suit your liking exactly; I don’t know if you’ve ever heard of catering to your guests’ interests when you’re hosting an outing? Of course not, I’m sure the great Thomas Jefferson has never made a polite move in his life -”  
   
“You’re one to talk about manners, Hamilton. Did I hallucinate it or was that your finger you almost jabbed up my nose, trying to make your point?” As if to prove his side, Jefferson sits somehow both with perfect posture and taking up as much room as possible.  
   
In juxtaposition, Alexander is half out of his seat and, yes, violently gesturing with both his entire arms. “You’re a goddamn hypocrite, Jefferson. You just interrupted me to make a remark about manners, which illustrates my point perfectly, and you’re letting your personal dislike of me get in the way of letting the other two people here enjoy their lunch at a more casual joint without all these - what are they, thrones? I wasn’t aware that chairs needed -”  
   
“You didn’t exactly take into account the needs of the other two people here with us when you decided to let me organize everything. That was, I’m sure, some poorly thought-out attempt at passive-aggression.”  
   
“If you would ever actually _address_ any of the points I’m presenting to you maybe I wouldn’t have to resort to trying -”  
   
The “other two people” are currently trying to discuss the menu under the sentences being flung back and forth over their heads. Aaron hunches down, leaning across the table to point some things out to Madison, and muses vaguely that if those two are tossing bombshells at each other then he’s sitting in no man’s land, and that’s one of the few neutral places that isn’t safe in the slightest.  
   
His fears are validated ten minutes later. Alexander’s still ranting about the extents that Jefferson drives him to, while Jefferson argues the difficulty of responding to every point given that Alexander talks a mile a minute. Aaron sees Madison tense before he sees the expression on Jefferson’s face twist, frustration falling just this side of petty and cruel.  
   
An eyebrow arches perfectly up. “I’d bet you anything that you can’t commit to getting to the point any more than you commit to that pretty little Schuyler of yours.”  
   
Aaron looks at Alexander just in time to see him flush, embarrassed or furious or both, and then upend some sort of fancy French sauce all over Jefferson’s very expensive shirt.  
   
The look on Jefferson’s face would be hilarious if Madison didn’t just shoot Aaron a horrified glance in the same moment. They’d gone ahead and ordered while the other two argued, and Alexander’s estimate of how long the wait for the food was had been very off. There’s ammunition everywhere.  
   
Jefferson has gone from sputtering to making threatening sounds in Alexander’s direction, but Aaron’s not paying attention to him. Alexander’s eyes are fixed in his opponent’s direction, there’s a frightening tilt to his mouth, and his entire stance has shifted. He’s practically vibrating - forget Debate Mode, this is something like Duel Mode.  
   
“Oh, you’re on,” he says, as if he hadn’t been the one to start the fight. Aaron suspects he just wanted an excuse to say that phrase in that tone of voice.  
   
Two minutes later, Alexander is completely on the table and shoving mashed potatoes up Jefferson’s nose. Jefferson’s trying to fend him off with a stiff baguette, and holding one of his hands gingerly from when he’d set it down in a bowl of hot soup to try to steady himself. Alexander has something orange smeared in his hair. Madison hadn’t moved fast enough, and is now huddled against the wall, fishing peas out of his shirt collar.  
   
Aaron, also pressing his back against the wall and as far away from the two disasters as possible, is having flashbacks to the morning after he’d met Alexander. The state of his poor apartment. They’re probably all four of them going to be banned from this restaurant for life. Although, to be honest, only Alexander is actively aggressing.  
   
“Are you sure they’re grown men?” he hisses at Madison. He’s trying not to think about the comment that sparked the situation - everyone needs to calm down first, and then Aaron can process.  
   
Alexander picks up a fork and Aaron decides that he’s had enough. He shoots Madison a meaningful look - _if you don’t help me de-escalate then we’re both very very screwed, do you understand_ \- and catches Alexander’s wrist before he can launch the fork across the table. He manages to capture the other hand, too, though not in an optimal move (holding hands is a thing that’s happening now, Aaron supposes) and he uses both these points of leverage to sit Alexander the hell down.  
   
Fortunately, Madison has somehow managed to talk Jefferson out of attacking while Alexander’s at a disadvantage, and there’s a brief armistice. Alexander and Jefferson glare at each other from their seats.  
   
“I can’t believe you made a scene in one of my favourite restaurants,” Jefferson snarls, but most of the fight’s been taken out of him. He opens his mouth to say more, but Madison shoots him a quelling glance.  
   
“You were rude and uncalled for, and we all know Hamilton’s a child. I can believe it just fine.” To Aaron, he says, “You take him and go, it’s probably the wisest option to just separate them for now. Trust me, they’re like this all the time.”  
   
“What about -” Aaron, still holding on to Alexander, has no hands free to indicate _all this_ , so he nods at the table.  
   
“I’ll get him to apologize and pay them extra for the inconvenience. It’s not like you two would need to come back here on other occasions.”  
   
Aaron has to admit that Madison’s making fair points. He still feels guilty for letting this happen to the poor wait staff, but Alexander’s still scowling and it probably would be for the best if this lunch meeting came to an end sooner rather than later. “I’ll see you around, then.”  
   
Madison nods, and as Aaron maneuvers Alexander out of the restaurant he hears their conversation trail off: “Thomas, hold still so I can figure out whether to take you to the hospital or dry cleaning place first -”  
   
When they make it outside, leaning against one of the side walls, Aaron realizes that although he let go of Alexander’s wrist when they stood up to leave, the fingers of his other hand are still threaded in between Alexander’s. It happened very fast, in the middle of all that chaos, and Aaron had forgotten to untangle himself - especially given that Alexander has either also forgotten or isn’t inclined to let go anytime soon. His palm is still slightly cold, pressed up against Aaron’s.  
   
Aaron decides to pretend that he never had a right hand to begin with, and ignores its existence so he doesn’t have to move it. He clumsily digs out some spare napkins from his pocket, dropping his wallet in the process. “Here, look at you, you’re a complete mess.” He passes half the napkins to Alexander, but since they have one hand free each and no intention to change that, he takes over the duty of cleaning off the parts that Alexander can’t reach or see.  
   
“He started it,” Alexander grumbles, sulking. “And no, before you start - I mean when we first met. I was perfectly willing to play nice until he opened his goddamn mouth -” He doesn’t seem genuinely upset about Jefferson’s comment anymore, though, only a little worn out.  
   
“No, don’t _you_ start.” Aaron gets a fresh napkin and runs it up Alexander’s neck. It comes away orange. “You need more experience picking fights - by which I mean you have to start _choosing_ which ones you get involved with. You need to learn to be less easily provoked.”  
   
“You’re not allowed to use wordplay like that,” Alexander whines. “I just got brained with a baguette. And wow, says the man who punched me in the face.”  
   
“Talk less, Alexander.” Aaron taps him on the nose, making him blink.  
   
Alexander’s eyes scrunch up a little when he laughs, and Aaron has to look away to keep his composure. “I think this is a weird conversation to use that phrase. I’m pretty sure this is the most you’ve ever said to me since we met.”  
   
“I recall having a long conversation the morning you summoned a tornado in my living room,” Aaron remarks. He brushes a few crumbs out of Alexander’s hair, leaning across him to reach the back of his head.  
   
“I stand corrected. This is the most I’ve heard you talk and actually express anything of substance, even if you’re objectively wrong. I think Angelica was right, and I’m still not sure how she knows you better than I do.” Alexander fishes something out of his hair, stares at it, and sticks his tongue out in disgust before shaking it off his hand.  
   
“Nothing huge and scandal-worthy like you’re thinking. We went to university together, had classes together, ended up as project partners a few times. She’s a lot more like you than like me, so by something like the fifth impression, she’d formed some… opinions. About me and my lack of opinions.” Aaron, running out of things to fix on Alexander, straightens his collar. A pea falls out.  
   
“What do you mean, more like me? I have a great opinion of you.” Alexander actually looks offended.  
   
Aaron raises an eyebrow. “You spent two hours last night expounding on the different ways that being cowardly and complacent are things that you hate, and half of the time we’ve known each other complaining about how I’m those exact things.”  
   
Alexander scoffs, like the idea is ridiculous. “Of course I hate that, who wouldn’t? But I don’t hate _you_.”  
   
“A glowing endorsement.”  
   
Alexander doesn’t respond for a moment, which gives Aaron space to notice that he’d never really leaned back from when he reached over for the crumbs. They’re sitting very close together. He pulls his gaze up to meet Alexander’s, and the intention there is unmistakable.  
   
Alexander leans up, tilting his chin and staring - this time there’s no chance of uncertainty - at Aaron’s lips.  
   
All the events since the first time this happened flash through Aaron’s mind: his internal debate about what Alexander meant by that first kiss, Eliza’s laugh, his own uncertainty and Mulligan’s vagueness, Jefferson’s comment and the implication of cheating, Laurens’ hostility and then the sudden -  
  
Aaron flinches, pulling back far enough that his hand slips out of Alexander’s. “I, ah… it’s getting late, I should start back before my lunch break ends.” He stands up slowly, and he doesn’t look back at Alexander’s face in case he sees hurt there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I look up and think "am I writing crack or is this just an occupational hazard of being in this fandom".
> 
> Credit to [gandalfstyle](http://archiveofourown.org/users/gandalfstyle/pseuds/gandalfstyle) for the food fight idea, despite not having been in the fandom back when I was writing this chapter. Thanks for letting me drag you into founding father hell with me!
> 
> Lots of thanks again also to cloud9is007 and Holly for edits/beta-reading.


	5. grab a friend to be your second

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone makes bad choices, but as always especially Alexander.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is the formatting inconsistent from chapter to chapter? Yes. Do I have no clue what I'm doing and have been manually going through to try to fix every single line/paragraph break so far? Yes. Do I need help or advice for how to format things? Probably. 
> 
> Just let me know if it's glaringly obvious/annoying/interferes with reading.

Aaron doesn’t get a “lunch?” text the next day. He doesn’t get any texts at all, actually, but he’d convinced himself that it was okay because by now he’s picked up on the fact that Alexander either texts nonstop for five hours or drops off the surface of the earth for eight. He’s also noticed that Alexander texts about lunch around the same time every day, though, as if he has to be reminded (Eliza or a phone alarm?) to eat and texts Aaron as soon as that happens.

Aaron lets himself start to worry at around the half-hour mark. He could initiate this time, text Alexander first in case he missed the reminder today or something. But there’s still everything yesterday left unsaid, and Aaron never says more than he has to as a rule. He’ll just have to get lunch by himself today, like he has done for the most of the past few years.

It doesn’t stop the feeling from settling in his stomach that something bad might have happened. Aaron’s just waiting to see what kind of bad: the spectrum, with Alexander, ranges from “forgot lunch existed or passed out from sleep deprivation” to “angry at Aaron” to “dead in a ditch somewhere”.

He wonders if he could get away with wandering by the convenience store, just to see if anyone’s there. Plausible deniability, or else he’d have just called.

_To John  
_ _From Eliza  
_ Have you heard from Alex since yesterday? He’s not returning texts again and I thought he might have talked to you at least.  
 _Sent at 12:30 pm_

Aaron tries to convince himself that it doesn’t matter - he’s hardly the man’s closest friend, he clearly has plenty of those who can worry about him and kick down doors if needed. If something happened, there’s no reason that texting Aaron about it would be his first move. Despite all this, though, he’s slow to trudge down the stairs and out of the building, and slower still deciding where to eat.

He’s getting a sandwich from a little coffee place down the street (in the opposite direction from the convenience store where he’d first run into Alexander, but not for any intentional reason, not at all) when his phone buzzes.

He has to exercise all of his restraint to keep from reaching for his pocket before paying the cashier. He’s not that desperate for news. Still, when he sees the number on the screen, he can’t help but be disappointed.

_To Aaron  
_ _From ?  
_ This is Laurens i stole your number from Alex’s phone  
 _Sent at 12:45 pm_

Have you seen him at all today  
 _Sent at 12:46 pm_

no, i haven’t. is something wrong?  
 _Sent at 12:50 pm_

Aaron made sure to find a seat and set down his lunch before turning his attention to his phone, but he still finds himself hitting the send button much earlier than he would otherwise. Normally he’d check it over for any underlying meaning he might have missed and didn’t intentionally insert, but this is Laurens and Alexander might be in actual trouble, so to hell with all that. It’s six goddamn words.

Before i answer that do you have Eliza or Angelica’s number  
 _Sent at 12:53 pm_

no. i had angelica’s a few years ago but she changed it at some point.  
 _Sent at 12:54 pm_

Aaron chews on his lip, picks up his sandwich, and then sets it down as he waits for a response. He doesn’t even pretend to wait when the screen lights up again.

Okay  
 _Sent at 12:59 pm_

Where are you right now i’ll come to you and explain in person   
Just to be sure  
 _Sent at 12:59 pm_

He types back the address of the coffee shop and tries very hard not to fret, now that he has good reason. If what Aaron thinks the situation sounds like is true, Alexander’s close friends aren’t sure where he is, either. And if even Laurens has resorted to texting Aaron, it must be at least more drastic than whatever their usual is. He doesn’t ask what Laurens needs to be sure of, and whether it has to do with the other question he just asked, because there are better things to worry about now.

He gives the sandwich up as a lost cause and tucks it into his bag.

_To Alex  
_ _From Angelica  
_ look  
 _Sent at 12:15 pm_

if you keep ignoring eliza’s texts i will track you down and do something violent  
 _Sent at 12:15 pm_

alexander we’re worried  
 _Sent at 12:18 pm_

The wait for Laurens to arrive has to be the longest seventeen minutes of Aaron’s life. The whole day has been going molasses-slow, like he can’t quite settle in the normal timeline after spending so long around Alexander’s accelerated lifestyle. This is why he doesn’t trust routine; you start to rely on it, and then when it breaks you don’t know what to do with yourself.

Mostly Aaron had just gotten used to not being alone.

_To John  
_ _From Alex  
_ hey uh so i may need backup  
 _Sent at 10:38 am_

but you cant tell eliza! or angelica theyd be so mad  
and worried  
 _Sent at 10:38 am_

Alex  
Should i be worried  
 _Sent at 10:40 am_

no no im fine i got this  
just  
remember seabury and lee from the other day  
 _Sent at 10:41 am_

fuck hang on

_Sent  
at 10:41 am_

When Laurens comes into the coffee shop, he’s wearing none of his usual cornered-dog combativeness. He scans the shop, spots Aaron, and drops into a chair across from him before Aaron can do so much as lift a hand and wave. The look in his eyes doesn’t bode well for what kind of news Aaron’s going to get. He keeps running his hands up and down his pant leg, as if rubbing down the denim is a substitute for pacing.

Aaron waits. He hasn’t known the man for long, but he’s learned that it’s better to let Laurens gather what he wants to say if he wants accurate results. Laurens is like Alexander in that way, spitting out aggression if he’s pressed, but unlike Alexander his words don’t run together or spill over the rim of conversation.

“As far as I know I’m the only one who’s heard from him for the past twenty-four hours, and he told me not to tell Eliza or Angelica what he’s up to.” Laurens takes a breath, hunching his shoulders in. “He said not to - here.” He shoves his phone at Aaron, screen set to his texts with Alexander. Aaron scrolls through, Alexander’s messages sparse on the left while increasing amounts of “Where are you” and “Are you okay” appear on Laurens’ side of the conversation.

It’s an incongruity that throws Aaron off. Alexander’s finally talking less, but it’s not for a good reason.

lee caught me out on a walk  
 _Sent at 11:58 am_

i might have yelled some poorly advised things and he had some friends with him and then next thing you know well  
 _Sent at 11:58 am_

this isnt like bar fights at least there you know that if you get your face broken theres probably someone nice enough to call for medical help  
 _Sent at 11:59 am_

john if i bleed out in an alley somewhere i wont make it to lunch with aaron  
 _Sent at 11:59 am_

dont tell him dont tell anyone  
i can probably get out of this  
 _Sent at 12:01 am_

“He hasn’t said anything for over an hour now,” Laurens adds when Aaron hands the phone back. “I was on the phone with him briefly and he couldn’t tell me where he was, he’s running through the streets trying to hide from them.”

“Why doesn’t he just - go to your house? Or Eliza’s, or somewhere like that to hide for a bit?” Aaron’s almost equally as worried about Laurens, now - jittery knees and restless fingers tugging at his hair.

“He doesn’t want to involve anyone else?” Laurens starts gnawing on his knuckles. “His enemies tend to be… persistent, and he still thinks he can talk his way out of this one, the idiot - I know he makes bad decisions all the time, but usually I’m out there making them with him.”

Aaron, at a loss, digs out his abandoned sandwich and offers it up for anxious dismantling. At least now Laurens has something to do with his hands.

“It’s the worst thing in the world, not knowing whether or not he’s alive in between texts.” Laurens finally looks up to meet Aaron’s eyes, and the next words are whispered, a plea: “I don’t know what I can do.”

Aaron realizes abruptly that he’s expected to be the most rational person in this situation. Laurens is reluctant to go against Alexander’s request to not tell Eliza, and Aaron can imagine ways that she’d be able to help, keep everyone calm at least, but he doubts they’re enough to convince either of the two. Laurens - John himself looks on the verge of falling apart, and Aaron has to remind himself not to think about all the reasons he should be as afraid as John right now.

“Here’s what you can do,” Aaron starts, using words that John used to buy himself time to think. “Here’s what _we_ can do: you keep an eye on that phone, and we start walking. Increase the chances of randomly finding him, and we can both try to think of places that he might be. Ask him if he can give us an approximate location, even if he’s about to leave it; it’ll at least give us a starting point.”

John’s staring at him with wide eyes, but he nods and turns up the notification sound on his phone. “All right. Okay.”

“We’ll find him,” Aaron reassures him. He tries on a tiny smile, and to his surprise John smiles back. He may have been wrong with that opinion formed on that dare; there’s no careless or malicious intent behind anything John does - he’s just as much of a mess as Alexander. “We will.”

Aaron, for the first time, stops wondering in the back of his mind which of them is dating who. The sandwich has been demolished into little crumbly bits, all over the table, and that’s why Aaron reaches out and slips his hand into John’s.

He’s much warmer than Alexander, but it’s hard to tell as they walk out of the coffee shop, because their fingers are gripping each other too tightly.


	6. confession time, here's what we got

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Decisions upgrade from "terrible" to "slightly better".

Aaron trips down the sidewalk with John, both of them with their phones out and hands still together; it’s not worth it to let go, better to sacrifice balance than break the cautious truce that happened here. No word from Alexander yet, but Aaron’s tried texting him questions now too. Maybe - Aaron can’t find a train of thought that goes down a path he’d be comfortable taking, so he stops there at the station instead.

“Anything?” John knows the answer, he’s close enough to be able to see Aaron’s screen and despite the obsessive checking, Aaron hasn’t stopped to tap out any replies. Aaron shakes his head regardless, confirming disappointment.

Aaron’s trying not to let his thoughts wander, but John disrupted his efforts and now he’s thinking about the conversation back in his apartment - the look on Alexander’s face when he said at least Aaron didn’t _keep_ punching him. John squeezes his hand and Aaron realizes that he’d started shaking, just a little. He squeezes back and steadies his shoulders. He can’t stop here.

They’re a good distance from anywhere Aaron has a degree of familiarity with by now, and he’s just starting to reconsider this strategy when he hears a yelp followed by soft, very recognizable swearing. He pulls on John’s hand, but John’s already half a step ahead and straining toward the alleyway where the voice is coming from. Aaron generally doesn’t approve of charging in without evaluating the situation first, but this -

He lets John’s hand slip out of his. Aaron follows at a more reserved pace as John tears ahead; the scene he catches up to looks to have drastically changed from what it must have been originally. One of Lee’s friends has Alexander pressed up against a wall, barely reaching the ground with his toes, and John is engaged in repeatedly punching another one of the fellows in the nose, having captured him by the collar.

“Lee,” Aaron says. He’s always waged his wars with words first and foremost, despite how much he wants to test how much his knuckles have healed from Friday’s altercation. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” Read: this isn’t the kind of situation that a smart man would get into, and Lee isn’t that kind of stubborn.

If Aaron had to guess, with his limited knowledge of Lee’s character and Alexander’s side of the story, Lee hadn’t actually come with the intent of physically hurting Alexander. Humiliating, perhaps, and threatening definitely. It’s just unlucky coincidence that Alexander responds to any potential threat with raised fists, and Lee subscribes to too many social this-means-thats to let an insult go unanswered in kind.

In other words: Alexander made it a fight and Lee thought, _oh shit_ , but it would look bad to run away from a single scrappy former-lawyer. Also, Alexander really is terrible at fights for having made it a hobby to provoke them.

Under Aaron’s intense scrutiny and after some careful deliberation, Lee answers: “We were just about to leave.” He calls to his friends, and Alexander is dropped to the ground and kicked one last time in the shin - this last action meets a disapproving glare from both Aaron and Lee.

Lee makes a show of nodding a farewell at Aaron only, and finally deems it dignified enough a retreat to actually leave.

John breaks the relieved silence after only a few moments. “You should’ve let me punch him more.”

Aaron snorts. “No, I shouldn’t have. Just because I’m a lawyer doesn’t mean we’re all immune to lawsuits.”

“Did you tell anyone else?” Alexander is uncharacteristically straight to the point, declining the banter, and this is what makes Aaron rush over and drop to his knees to look him over. “Don’t call Angelica, please don’t.”

There’s blood on his face, but Aaron thinks that it’s just his lip and not internal bleeding coughed up - a scrape on his eyebrow, jaw, and blood in his hair. Nothing looks broken, except maybe his ribs, but they definitely roughed him up pretty well.

“Don’t tell Angelica,” he repeats when Aaron doesn’t say anything, and his expression shifts from distracted hurting to a flicker of fear. “Are you mad at me?”

Aaron hadn’t realized that was a complicated question before Alexander asked it. He sidesteps it, still in crisis mode and therefore not dealing with anything on the thinking side until after all this blood - he takes Alexander’s hair out of its tie and runs his hand through it under guise of trying to find out where he hit it. (John is right there behind them, and Aaron processes that fact only in the sense that he should maybe take a look at John’s wounds, too.) “I did just tell you yesterday to pick which fights you get in,” he scolds, but he keeps his voice soft so he isn’t inadvertently answering the question.

Alexander laughs, soundless and light. “Guess I shoulda listened to you. Talk less?”

“Smile more,” Aaron adds, nudging the corner of his mouth with a knuckle from the hand not in his hair. Alexander looks so much happier when he’s, well, not angry.

“Instead of talking? Because those two things are not mutually exclusive, even sometimes when I’m arguing.” He demonstrates, and Aaron’s never truly appreciated the difference between a grin and a smile before now. His palm settles along Alexander’s jaw without Aaron noticing, and Alexander leans into it a little when he starts rubbing away the blood with his thumb.

John coughs.

Alexander pulls back first, and Aaron nearly starts up the wondering again but for the fact that he’s still in crisis mode. “I’m sorry, but Angelica has a car and I don’t know where we are right now. You’re not walking however far with possibly-broken ribs.”

“They’re not broken,” Alexander mutters, “probably.” He doesn’t protest the rest of Aaron’s logic, though, and hands over his own phone so Aaron can get at Angelica’s number. “I hope you know that I’ll be murdered as a direct consequence of your actions.”

Aaron spares him only a roll of his eyes, because Angelica answers on the first ring. “Yes, we found him. John’s here too - okay, if you’re sure the car will have enough room for her.” They’re talking about Eliza, and Alexander picks this up and groans. “Alexander, she’d like you to know that she’s furious.”

“She doesn’t even know what happened yet!”

“Mhm, yep. We’ll venture out to some street signs and John will text you the intersection. Okay, see you in a bit.”

Aaron hands the phone back and Alexander tucks it away with a huff. “Betrayal,” he mumbles. “Bitter, bitter betrayal.”

They all pile into the backseat, Alexander hurrying John in and climbing in after so Angelica can’t get a word in edgewise before she gives up and starts driving. Her glare promises more than words could, though. Aaron quirks her a smile, commiserating over the fact that Alexander is an asshole.

With Angelica concentrating on the road, the silence in the car is tense. Alexander hunches down in his middle seat, guilty, and Eliza glances in the rearview mirror, fretting, every ten seconds. Aaron’s quiet is customary, and John’s might be but Aaron’s found it difficult to read him ever since he let go of his hand.

Of course Alexander, even exhausted and injured, can’t sit still for long; he shifts to change position a little and jostles something. His hand shoots up toward his ribs, but he sets it back down quickly and wipes the wince off his face. Too late - Eliza had already seen. Alexander turns away from her and toward Aaron.

“Kiss it better,” he demands, presenting his bruised and scraped-up knuckles.

There are a lot of things Aaron could object to, here: that was his ribs hurting just now, his hand had nothing to do with it; he doubts kissing actually fixes or improves anything, scientifically; he’s not smooching a wound Alexander gained from being the aggressor. But, well, Aaron’s gotten used to not saying anything throughout his life and he’s not about to start now with no good reason.

As he leans down and slides his own hand under Alexander’s to steady it, he tells himself it’s not because he wants to see how Eliza and John would react. Still, he moves slowly and presses firm. When he looks up Alexander’s eyes are just the slightest bit wide, like he hadn’t expected Aaron to take him up on it, and his cheeks the slightest bit pink.

“Hey, Aaron,” Angelica interjects, saving them all. “Your apartment is the closest, right? From what I remember.”

“Yes, right. Turn left here -”

They arrive in eight minutes, after dropping Eliza off at the convenience store to pick up more first-aid supplies (this, in turn, was after convincing her that they’d manage okay without her - and Angelica’s the driver and Aaron has the keys, so no she can’t fret over the boys the whole rest of the way there). Angelica sits John down on the couch in the living room and starts in on him, hands on her hips and John looking suitably sheepish - Alexander pulls Aaron by the wrist to the bedroom, escaping temporarily.

“You never answered my question.” Alexander’s straight to the point, aggressive with his eye contact. Aaron sits him down on the bed to delay his reply.

“What question?” He checks the drawers on his bedside table for the mini first-aid kit he knows he has stored somewhere.

“You know exactly what I’m referring to,” Alexander snaps. “Don’t - dodge, or dance around it, or whatever it is you do.” And then, not in case Aaron really had forgotten but because he has to talk the maximum amount, he repeats, “are you mad at me?”

“Maybe,” Aaron starts. Alexander makes a frustrated noise at the noncommittal response. “I know I was at one point. Or multiple. I don’t know about right now, though.”

“Well,” Alexander says. “What do I say to that?”

“Whatever you were going to say after I reassured you that no, I’m definitely not mad at you,” Aaron suggests. He sits down on the bed beside Alexander, first-aid kit on his lap. “You’re likely going to say it anyway, but with more hesitation and beating around the bush.”

“I do not beat around the bush!” And then, just to murder his point, he continues the analogy. “I am very nice to bushes, or things around bushes, whichever that saying is referring to. I most definitely would never use my characteristic rambling as a delaying tactic.”

“Alexander.” If no one prompts him Alexander might just keep at it until the sun sets.

Alexander stops, sighs, and closes his eyes. He almost seems nervous, which Aaron freely admits scares him, so he gets out a ball of cotton and dabs it in disinfectant. He waves it in front of Alexander’s nose to get his attention, and his patient eyes it warily. “Okay, okay, I’ll get on with it.”

Aaron waits thirty seconds. “And?”

“So I really really like you. In the I want to date you sort of way, except I wasn’t sure you liked me back blah blah like every romance arc ever, and it seems like a colossal waste of time from a distance when getting together with John was completely natural and Eliza was very forward about it in a roundabout sort of way so I think I’m the one who was courted there, but the point is you’re vague and hard to read and I’ll still probably never understand you but I want to try and have the chance to try beyond some lunch not-dates, and Eliza and John both said they were okay with it except they both said I should’ve told you about the multiple partners thing first but I didn’t want to presume that was what was happening here and what if you hated the first kiss and then all that stuff happened after Jefferson -”

Aaron shoves his cotton at an open cut on Alexander’s eyebrow. He flinches back and whines, but the flow of words is at least cut off for a moment. “Do I need to reinforce the one-sentence rule again?”

“Oh no, did I overwhelm you? Eliza warned me off that specifically - actually no she warned me off a lot of separate things but that’s not what I should be focusing on right now.” He shuts his mouth with a click and leans back to watch Aaron’s reaction.

“I reserve the right to stop you via forcibly applied medical care,” Aaron informs him carefully. “But go ahead. Please try to be concise.”

“Okay, so. I like you. I won’t go into detail about that because I think you probably get it by now and it’ll be embarrassing for both of us because we’ve established at this point that I don’t know when to shut up - The thing you’re probably concerned about is that I’m also dating two other people?”

Hm. The phrasing there clears up a lot. “I admit most of my reservations over the past few days were because -” of a lot of things, actually. “Yeah. It’s a polyamorous arrangement?”

“Poly thing, yes. Which incidentally was what Jefferson was snidely referring to with his little _comment_ there, to clarify. I uh may have gotten a little mad at the insinuation.” Alexander finally has the sense to look abashed. A ‘little’ mad doesn’t quite cover it. “Which is funny! Because he and I have an independent sort of on-off thing, which means he’s technically part of it.”

“That’s… good to know.” Aaron consolidates the information. “To be honest I was less worried about Jefferson than I was about John.”

“Oh,” Alexander goes, blinking. “I told John not to confront you about it; I think he’s still a little unsure about adding you to the configuration? I mean this is all only if you’re interested, of course,” he adds hastily.

“No, I meant the ambush - er, surprise makeouts. On Sunday.” Aaron thinks he probably could have worded that better, but he’s surprised by the shock in Alexander’s features.

“He _what_.”

Aaron’s left to trail helplessly behind him, cotton and band-aids in hand; Alexander has seemingly forgotten the threat of Angelica in the living room.

Angelica hasn’t forgotten. “You! Alexander, sit down.” She waves a set of tweezers at him menacingly. “Don’t think you’re getting away with anything just because you’ve got romantic troubles. Your Laurens here was trying to whine at me about it, and I’m having none of it.”

Aaron fiddles with the rest of Alexander’s wounds while she goes on, which has the convenient effect of forcing him to stay still. She shoots Aaron a grateful look in the pause for breath in her rant, and he nods back. Aaron sort of wonders if they’re all of them except Alexander wanting to delay the pending conversations any possible extra amount of time.

And then the door swings open. Angelica winds up with a look like she was getting to the end anyway, and helps Eliza with her bags. After all the extra bandages and whatnot are settled away, the elder sister spins on her heel to survey the sullen scene on the couch.

“Ha, yeah, I’ll leave you all to it. This seems like a discussion for romantic partners, and I’m happily girlfriended already.” She waves over her shoulder and absconds out the door. Aaron watches her go and feels sort of weird for being included in the set of romantic partners she’d referred to, but he supposes he’ll have to get used to it.

Eliza sets her hands on her hips. “I’m guessing the tension here is more than ‘now Aaron knows about Alex’s crush’, based on past experience? You boys are too overdramatic.” She’s in the perfect position to scold, with Alexander and John sitting on either end of the couch and Aaron perched on one of the armrests.

“Betsy!” Alexander protests. “What if I hadn’t told him yet? You would’ve ruined it.”

“Like we can count on you keeping your mouth shut that long,” John snipes at him. It turns out to have been the wrong move, because Alexander wheels around to face him.

“Don’t get me started on you! I can’t believe you went and, and.” Alexander frowns, pauses, turns to Aaron.

“Very suddenly kiss me, apparently on impulse, for reasons unknown by anyone in the room.” He assumes Eliza didn’t know, at least, because it feels like she would’ve told Alexander. Then again, with him reacting like this…

“You what?” Theory confirmed, then. “John, that’s rude.”

Poor John shrinks under both their accusing gazes. He’s blushing. “I don’t know, I wasn’t thinking, I was curious because he seemed all stuffy and I didn’t know what Alex saw in him and then he just -”

“It’s all right,” Aaron cuts in, because if someone doesn’t save this boy from impending combustion by embarrassment there’ll be Laurens-chunks exploded all over Aaron’s nice walls. Uh. Metaphorically. “I don’t mind that much.”

John turns to hit him with the full force of his disbelief, lip caught in teeth and wide eyes. He has a Batman band-aid wrapped slightly off-center across the bridge of his nose and looks abruptly eminently kissable.

Aaron clears his throat, very quietly. “I’m serious. Though it wasn’t very good. If you, ah, want to make up for that first one with a better…?” He can’t even bring himself to complete the sentence, and it looks like he’d just finished the job of blowing up John’s face instead of saving him from it. He blinks a few times and John’s moved to kneel on the couch, leaning cautiously up. Aaron closes the distance.

Alexander clears his throat, very loudly.

Aaron’s first thought is that dang it, that had actually been a decent kiss. It’s immediately followed by oops, he forgot to give any definitive answer to Alexander’s confession and then made out with his boyfriend right over his lap, practically. They break apart and John goes right back to work on setting his face on fire - aw, freckles - while Aaron is left to face down this new dilemma.

(Eliza is totally giggling at them.)

Aaron doesn’t know what happened to his careful weighing over of decisions, but he suspects these three broke it somewhere along the way. Talk less still works for him, so he just angles his shoulders away from Eliza and presses a careful kiss to Alexander’s nose, and then down to his mouth. Sufficient answer without a single word, Burr you smooth bastard.

Eliza’s presence at his back makes him pull away eventually. Okay, yes, there has to be some talking. Alexander makes a pleased sound and blinks open his eyes. “Is that a yes?”

Aaron smiles at him, just to be cryptic one last time before they wear him down all the way (with those eyes and those freckles), and he wonders at the thought that pops up about how he wouldn’t really mind trying to court Eliza, too.

Almost as if she can tell what he’s thinking, Eliza speaks up. “Of course the official initiation involves the newcomer chasing the rest of us down with flowers and chocolate like it’s Valentine’s Day and we’re all in a cliche movie or something.” Her smile looks like she’s maybe not quite kidding.

“Or at least that’s what we assumed to be the ritual, because Alex did that with Eliza and then Eliza did that with me,” John adds. Ah. Aaron had been wondering which couple got together first.

Alexander’s stomach growls - he must have not had the chance to grab lunch, maybe breakfast too, while he was running - and Aaron stands up. He leaves Alexander to bicker with Eliza over which of them had overdone it more with the flowers and chocolate, and moves to his kitchen. Where is it, it’d been a few days ago - there.

He comes back and presses a sandwich into Alexander’s hands. “I might as well start with the courting gifts now,” he explains, and Alexander looks over at the just-opened jar of cranberry sauce sitting on the counter and laughs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of the actual story, and the last chapter is an epilogue. Thank you for sticking with me through the entire thing! It's the first multi-chapter fic I've finished, actually, so this is sort of a big deal. 
> 
> One last thanks to cloud9is007, for lots and lots of editing and reworking, and to Holly for support and this following snippet (her version of the fic):
> 
> Burr: "I'm so gay"  
> Alex: "Called it lets just kiss everyone we meet"   
> Fin
> 
> I think it sums things up pretty well!


	7. and then we're writing a letter nightly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A glimpse of their lives over the next few weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be extra clear, these texts are spread out over different days, and every double line break is a separate day.

_From: John_  
_To: Aaron, Eliza_  
One of you come save me from Alex  
_Sent at 4:16 pm_

isn’t he working?  
_Sent at 4:17 pm_

Burr he’s sitting on my lap tell me how he’s supposed to work like this  
_Sent at 4:17 pm_

Oops, sorry, I missed the notification. Did Aaron head over?  
_Sent at 4:35 pm_

Now he’s sitting on my lap and making out with Burr what an improvement  
_Sent at 4:36 pm_

 

 _From: Aaron_  
_To: John_  
do you know where alexander is? i can’t seem to find him.  
_Sent at 1:11 pm_

He said not to tell you where he went did you two fight  
_Sent at 1:12 pm_

no, but i suspect he knows i’m going to yell at him.  
_Sent at 1:13 pm_

Ha oh man what’d he do  
_Sent at 1:13 pm_

sprawled his papers over the entire living room, causing me to be late for work.  
_Sent at 1:14 pm_

Damn you’re never late for work he’s in for a scolding  
_Sent at 1:14 pm_

if i can find him.  
_Sent at 1:15 pm_

My apartment you have a key right  
_Sent at 1:16 pm_

found him.  
_Sent at 1:27 pm_

Scolding accomplished?  
_Sent at 1:27 pm_

he’s curled up asleep on your bed.  
_Sent at 1:29 pm_

Haha scolding postponed?  
_Sent at 1:30 pm_

he’s making little snuffling sounds in his sleep.  
_Sent at 1:34 pm_

 

 _From: Eliza_  
_To: Aaron_  
John would like you to be informed that he wants food.  
_Sent at 11:27 am_

Sorry, that’s Food with capital F. Apparently he has cravings, but not for anything specific.  
_Sent at 11:27 am_

tell him that’s not how cravings work.  
_Sent at 11:28 am_

and that i’ll be there soon. his fault for saddling me with grocery duties.  
_Sent at 11:29 am_

and that alex gets to pick the food, because it’s john’s own fault he’s too lazy to come help.  
_Sent at 11:32 am_

A picnic doesn’t set itself up, Aaron!  
_Sent at 11:33 am_

And John says he sent you two specifically in case you pick up more cute people at the store.  
_Sent at 11:34 am_

 

 

 _From: Jefferson_  
_To: Alex_  
soo I hear you got yourself another little addition to your harem  
_Sent at 6:36 pm_

Hello. Alex is busy at the moment, this is his (figurative) wife speaking.  
_Sent at 6:36 pm_

oh shit  
_Sent at 6:36 pm_

 

 _From: Eliza_  
_To: Alexander_  
How are they?  
_Sent at 8:33 am_

john has leveled up to stage 4 of the cold  
aaron has stopped coughing up a lung every time he turns over in his sleep  
_Sent at 8:35 am_

Don’t fret too much, you’ll catch it too. :(  
_Sent at 8:36 am_

eh im probably already doomed at this rate might as well hover  
_Sent at 8:37 am_

Alexander Hamilton, did you get any sleep at all last night?  
_Sent at 8:38 am_

I’m honestly surprised that you’re not the first one to get the cold this time around.  
_Sent at 8:38 am_

status update john flopped over and is half-cuddling aaron  
_Sent at 8:43 am_

aaron stopped frowning in his sleep but now theyre both too warm so i have to separate them  
_Sent at 8:44 am_

Angelica says that if you’re going to sit around doing nothing but update me on how they’re sleeping, you have to pair good news with the bad.  
_Sent at 8:46 am_

Because otherwise I “can’t enjoy the Schuyler sleepover properly”.  
_Sent at 8:47 am_

promise youll stay over there though i dont want you catching it too  
_Sent at 8:47 am_

But you’re all lonely over there and have no one to cuddle.  
_Sent at 8:48 am_

And! If you get yourself sick on purpose just to be allowed to cuddle I will march over there to take care of all three of you no matter what Angelica says.  
_Sent at 8:48 am_

yes maam  
_Sent at 8:49 am_

 

 

 _From: John_  
_To: Aaron_  
3 guesses for what i found when i opened your apartment door  
_Sent at 5:27 pm_

Okay i guess youre not checking your texts so heres the answer  
_Sent at 5:32 pm_

One (1) Alexander Hamilton sprawled over the kitchen floor  
_Sent at 5:34 pm_

In a business suit covered in shredded cheese and uncooked spaghetti  
_Sent at 5:34 pm_

Asleep  
_Sent at 5:35 pm_

oh right alexander had his job interview today.  
_Sent at 5:38 pm_

Is that supposed to explain anything other than the suit  
_Sent at 5:39 pm_

he was probably trying to make dinner for himself.  
_Sent at 5:40 pm_

and something went disastrously wrong. he probably didn’t get any sleep last night either.  
_Sent at 5:41 pm_

I did a very loud and exasperated sigh but no one was here or awake to hear it  
_Sent at 5:42 pm_

you should probably wake him up, i doubt my floor tiles are very good for his spine.  
_Sent at 5:43 pm_

Yeah ill get on that  
_Sent at 5:44 pm_

 

 _From: Alex_  
_To: John_  
ha would you look at that aaron actually went through with the chocolate thing  
_Sent at 2:10 pm_

Don’t forget the flowers the flowers are important did he bring those  
_Sent at 2:11 pm_

psh of course he did i helped him look up the meanings all last night  
_Sent at 2:11 pm_

oh no she’s grinning  
she’s got that grin on  
_Sent at 2:12 pm_

Oh no i wish i was there to watch  
_Sent at 2:13 pm_

oh my fucking lord he put on music  
_Sent at 2:15 pm_

theyre dancing and i can only sit here on the couch with my book and pretend i dont notice  
_Sent at 2:15 pm_

It’s too late for you man you should’ve gotten out of the faux-formal romance setting while you still could  
_Sent at 2:16 pm_

he kissed her hand what are we in the 1800s  
_Sent at 2:17 pm_

okay wow no now theyre smooching for real what do i do  
_Sent at 2:18 pm_

I forbid you to interrupt them and demand kisses from both this is their “first date”  
_Sent at 2:19 pm_

Alex?  
_Sent at 2:23 pm_

Goddammit you went and did it didn’t you  
_Sent at 2:26 pm_

Hang on a sec i’m coming to join you  
_Sent at 2:27 pm_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My personal tumblr's over at cinder229, because I still haven't gotten around to setting up a writing blog, so feel free to go over to chat or send prompts or whatever! Or check out my other fics if you haven't already. (Disclaimer that prompts might not always be filled in a timely manner, but I'll do my best to do all of them and/or let you know if I don't plan to fill your prompt. Offer will always be open as long as this message is still up.) 
> 
> Thanks again for reading! This is the first long/chaptered fic I've actually completed and finished posting, so this is kind of a big deal for me. Endless appreciation to everyone who commented/stuck with me through the whole thing!
> 
> (Update 04/14/18: I have a writing sideblog now @cindrrain on Tumblr! Prompts/requests still welcome.)


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